The Real Thing
by Princess Sassafras
Summary: Love isn't always perfect. Love is often...unrequited. 4x2


"The Real Thing"

By: Princess Sassafras

Characters: Quatre Winner and Duo Maxwell

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It could never be said that Quatre R. Winner was not immaculate. Of course, growing up rich _can _make one obsessive about their appearance. It would be inaccurate to say, however, that he was well dressed and well groomed because he was narcissistic. He rather felt it his obligation. How could he possibly be lazy about anything--anything at all, even his appearance--when so much had been sacrificed in order that his family might have the substantial political influence they had achieved? And what could possibly be done in the world if people aspiring to be good (though Quatre was convinced that no one is ever perfectly good) never had any say in the workings of that world?

He saw his face in the mirror, a familiar but strangely impassive face: a finely bridged nose and wide-set blue eyes, a thin angular mouth, a square jaw and fashionably mid-length curly blonde hair. Rather noble, rather handsome…rather _inexpressive_. As much as he had felt in the past few months, an avalanche of feelings nigh impossible to withstand, he was not surprised to see the dwindled sparks in his usually dancing eyes. The lines at their corners were a little too deep for someone his age, but he was _so_ proud of them.

He straightened his shirt collar. There were people to iron his clothes, and people to lay out his breakfast, and he never forgot the cost. Or the duty. There was a knock at the door.

"Come in Duo." For a moment the creases around his eyes deepened, and he seemed to recognize himself in the mirror. Duo slouched in wearing blue boxers, his long auburn hair draped on a towel over his shoulder, half dry and curling. "Good shower?" Quatre gave the best smile he could.

"Very nice." Duo sat in Quatre's desk chair began to brush his own hair.

Quatre shook his head and crossed the room. "Please," he demanded, his tone slightly scolding.

Duo gave a rueful smile and handed over the brush, hunching his broad back so that Quatre could reach the top of his head. Quatre hated that he was vertically challenged--he was not tiny by any stretch, but definitely _nowhere_ near Duo's 6 feet and 4 inches.

Quatre gently tugged at a snarl at Duo's nape. This was one of his favorite things…he hated to admit to himself that he liked brushing Duo's hair almost as much as he liked playing the piano, or the violin. There actually was an art to working out the tangles in such a lion's mane of hair. He was careful and thorough. Duo never made a sound, but Quatre liked to believe that he enjoyed having his hair brushed.

Quatre got immense pleasure from doing things for others…his maid often said that he was far too young to be such an old philanthropist. Duo lived in Quatre's house and ate with Quatre at his table, but Quatre never felt like it was enough. He would give Duo a new past if he could, parents and a home, if he could. They were opposites in so many ways.

When Duo's hair was smooth and only slightly damp, he took the brush from Quatre and flipped his head over to give it his customary 'volumizing technique.' After he had run the brush through it with his head upside down, he leapt up and whirled around. Quatre thought he looked very much like a lion. He laughed, and Duo smiled, glad that his trick still worked.

"Thanks," he said, and started braiding his mane over his shoulder (he always did that part himself).

"What are you up to today?" Quatre asked, seemingly nonchalantly, his stomach clenching even as he asked.

"Hilde and I are going to the new mall." Duo said matter-of-factly.

"Sounds nice. I hope you have a good time." Quatre could have shot himself; he almost sounded dismissive!

"You know I want _us_ to go hang there soon. I just think Hilde had a date in mind today." Duo looked like he was hoping for some understanding. Quatre manufactured it.

"Of course! You guys need your time together--we see each other every day, after all!"

Duo nodded, pacified. "We do, don't we? Well…" he straightened up. "How do I look?"

"Fine. Great." Quatre said. "You might want a shirt, though…and some pants. Shoes could make for a nice accent as well."

"Oh, right. I'll take care of that, then." He smirked and threw his towel over his shoulder, heading for the door.

Quatre assumed that they were through, so he sat down in the desk chair and began to fire up his laptop.

"Hey Kat?"

"Hum?" Quatre looked up to see Duo staring at his own hand on the doorknob.

"If it ever…gets to be too much for me to stay here…" Quatre had heard this many, many times before, and he _hated_ it. Very few things frustrated him more than Duo acting guilty for living with him and not having to pay anything. Pay? Didn't he understand that Quatre loved giving him a place to stay for free? Didn't he understand how few things pleased Quatre half as much?

"Don't even think about it," Quatre said rather sternly. "Now, go to the mall!" He looked up and Duo was staring at him with his eyebrows raised. "I have spoken!" he said, pursing his lips very much like a school teacher. Duo chuckled on his way out.

Quatre could still smell his shampoo, could still feel his warmth in the desk chair.

He would love him…if he could. That's why he had to do anything he could, so that his heart didn't burst in frustration. He reminded himself that it was better than nothing.

Why hadn't he taken a lover? He very well still could. But he hadn't been _looking_ for Duo…he had simply appeared in Quatre's front door one day and asked for a place to stay for the weekend. Quatre didn't have the time to look for love, and taking Duo as a prime example he probably would have looked for the wrong thing anyway. A messy, raunchy, orphaned, charming, tender, roughhousing boy. He never could have fabricated such a love.

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